


Among Rainbows and Protest Signs

by Rinari7



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Female Doctor (Doctor Who), First Kiss, Pride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 10:42:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11712747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinari7/pseuds/Rinari7
Summary: Pride has always had a special place in her heart, but the feeling of Rose's lips on hers cements it, etches it deep.





	Among Rainbows and Protest Signs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WordsInTimeAndSpace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsInTimeAndSpace/gifts).



> Prompted by [wordsintimeandspace](http://wordsintimeandspace.tumblr.com/): "fem!Doctor/Rose and meeting at a pride parade? :3 (or going together to a pride parade if you prefer to write a non-AU!)"

The pop-dance numbers played by the passing floats reverberate in her chest, the volume toeing the delineation of “too loud” — but it has to in order to be heard over the crowds lining the streets, at least five people deep. The rainbows painted on cheeks and hanging from windows and wrapped around shoulders and plastered across posters and vehicles are a feast of color for her eyes, this body so much more in tune with all of its senses. The summer sun warms her back through her light blue oxford, sweat beginning to prickle at the nape of her neck under her hair, but she doesn’t mind the heat.

“Isn’t this brilliant, Rose? The grit, the spunk, the passion, the sheer joy in the air!” There’s so much _life_ , she can’t help but grin, broadly.

“Yeah!” Beside her, Rose twists her hips and shimmies in place to the beat, lightly swinging their joined hands, and returns her grin, tongue tucked between her teeth.

The Doctor allows herself one moment to pretend they are what they appear to be.  
(Surely, surely Rose knows everyone smiling at them thinks they’re a couple, but sometime in between leading Rose out of the TARDIS and being handed various pamphlets and a foam unicorn stress toy, Rose’s fingers had loosely laced themselves through hers, and she wasn’t so noble as to not tighten her grip and draw Rose a little closer.)

“I wish you’d said we were coming here,” Rose says in a quieter moment, in between the trucks, though she still has to raise her voice above the whistles and chatter and the Doctor still has to lean down a little and listen closely. “I would’ve dressed for it.”

She blinks, her eyes widening, and looks at Rose again. “How would you’ve wanted to dress?”  
( _Why_ would she have wanted to dress any particular way? And her hearts speed up and she wants to kick herself for making assumptions, but there was the Ricky the Idiot and Adam and Jack and people her own age and certainly no women…)

Rose inhales, her eyebrows shooting up and her grip tightening. “Oh. I thought — you knew I was bi. I thought that was why we were here. Isn’t it?” There’s something swirling in her dark amber eyes, a mix of emotions the Doctor can’t name.

Someone jostles them from behind, with an almost-unintelligible “Pardon!” and the Doctor nearly chokes on her hearts in her throat.  
(No, just because she finds women attractive doesn’t mean she finds _her_ attractive, but that split second of hope…)

“Is it?” Rose peers up at her, waiting on an answer, searching her face.

The Doctor shakes her head. “I didn’t know. I’m glad — I’m very glad, though.” She offers her a breathless smile, maybe a little hesitant, nervous (because all of a sudden she is, even though this is Rose) but completely genuine.

“Oh.” Rose holds her gaze for a moment, an equally hesitant smile playing at the corners of her lips. “That’s good.” She glances down, at their hands, flexing her fingers, and the Doctor reflexively squeezes her hand.

Rose’s next words are nearly drowned out by “ _Young man, there’s no need to feel down_ ,” and the Doctor shakes her head, leaning in closer. Rose rises on her toes, her breath tickling her ear. “Why are we here, then, Doctor? Not that — not that you can’t just want to come in support, or something. I mean, that’s great, too. Or are you, like, transgender, or…?” She makes a vague gesture, towards the nonbinary and intersex group. “With the turning into a woman bit? You never really said.”

The Doctor waits for the blaring music to pass them, debating for a split second exactly how much of her soul she wants to bare, except it was never really in question that Rose can have any part of her she wants.  
She chooses her words carefully, mindful of the other who might hear her raised voice, though the words are meant for Rose alone. “We don’t see gender like you do. Humans.” Rose nods. “But relationships for us were — very strategic. It wasn’t about love. So it’s good seeing love fought for, and celebrated.”

Rose nods again, slowly, glancing down again at their joined hands and trailing her thumb over her skin. “So gender doesn’t really matter to you? Or does it? Does-does species?” She lowers her voice as the music dies down again a bit, glancing towards the parade and letting out a short laugh as a leatherman in a dog hood and collar tilts his head at her. “Humans, I mean. Would it matter?” There’s more of a question in her voice than the question itself warrants.  
(And oh, _dear Gallifrey_ , she can’t believe Rose might — her head is spinning, terrified to hope, unable not to.)

“Not in the least.” (And the Time Lords’ rules can be damned to the Void.)  
The Doctor glances at the parade herself now, two drag queens gorgeous in flamboyant feathers catching her eye. Taking a breath, she tries for nonchalant, knowing the moment the words leave her lips that she’s failed. Her voice softens, without her permission, as she leans in again. “Does it matter to you?”  
( _Are you trying to ask me if I want you?_  she can’t force across her lips, coward that she is.)

“Not when it comes to you.” Swallowing, Rose meets her eyes. “I thought _you_ would care. ‘Stupid ape’ and all.”

The Doctor winces at the words her previous self had enunciated with such frequency, and she shakes her head, desperately. It spills over her tongue, laying her hearts bare: “I don’t — I don’t care about age gaps, either. Not even about a hell of one. Not at all. Or about anything else. Not when it comes to you.”

That draws a brilliant grin from Rose, one she basks in for a split second. Then her companion uses the unknotted tie looped around her neck to tug her down a bit further, bracing herself on their still-joined hands as she rises to speak in the Doctor’s ear over “ _Baby, this is what you came for; lightning, strikes every time she moves_.”  
“I want to kiss you. Is that okay?”

“Yes. Of course. If you want. Any time. Well maybe not any time. Maybe not while we’re running. But most times. Especially —” She’s nodding, babbling ( _yes, dear Gallifrey, yes, please_ ) and then Rose’s lips are on hers.

The world stops; her time senses shut down, the Vortex in her head stilling to a halt for a split second, and then sensation crashes over her again. Rose’s lips, a little dry but soft against her own, the faint taste of honey melon lip gloss, Rose’s grip on her hand tightening. She winds one arm around her and clutches Rose to herself, and only the feeling of a quiet whimper against her mouth prompts her to draw back a little, searching Rose’s slightly dazed expression. (Delight sparks at the thought that it’s because of her.)

“All right?”

Rose nods, taking in a deep gulp of air, her gaze darting down to her lips again, as she beams. “More than.”

“Oh good.” Paying no heed to the wolf-whistles of nearby parade-goers, the Doctor dips her head to press her lips to Rose’s again.

They don’t surface for air again until something small, flat, and crinkly lands in the Doctor’s hair: a condom packet. The man in the “Stamp Out AIDS” t-shirt wiggles a hand at them, winking and mouthing, “Use gloves, too, and have fun!”

The Doctor glowers at him. Rose leans against her, a tinge of pink in her cheeks, laughing loud and long. “Oh my God, Jack!”


End file.
